Serena's POV
Serena Caldwell carried herself like someone who had never been allowed to stumble. Shoulders straight, chin angled just so, hair falling in a chestnut curtain that never dared misbehave. Perfection wasn't an effort—it was a requirement. The Caldwell name demanded polish, and polish she had perfected.
Her family had raised her that way. A Caldwell didn't fidget. A Caldwell didn't bow their head. A Caldwell didn't falter in front of an audience, no matter how small. She'd been taught that posture was armor and poise was a weapon, and she'd sharpened them both until they felt like instinct.
Which was why, standing in the middle of this ridiculous exam, she felt more amused than nervous.
